


Scattered in the Wind

by JMoonrise



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Healing, Heartbreak, Love, Mental Health Issues, Post-Divorce, Rebuilding, Starting Over, True Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMoonrise/pseuds/JMoonrise
Summary: After a betrayal from those closest to her, Claire packs her bags and discovers you can always start your life again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely readers,  
> I started this as a way to help me with my own mental health issues. It's an element I add to my stories as it helps me relate to what I'm writing. The first chapter was posted on tumblr a while ago, but not everyone is on there so here we go.

Tiny people walked around in their tiny worlds, unaware of anything outside of their privileged existences. They didn’t care for anything that didn’t fit into the worlds they created for themselves.

People were easily cut out when they no longer fit the mold, and a newer model was there to take the place of the old one.

A smirked formed as the sky opened up and rain poured onto those tiny people with their tiny lives. The window was a gateway into a world unseen by many; one, I had left behind, or tried to at any rate. It was simply another thing I managed to fail at.

“Claire,” I dragged my face away from the window and stared at the woman in the chair.

She was dressed in a nice button down shirt with a pair of black slacks. To most she appeared business casual, but I had discovered she had a thing for shoes. She splurged on designer shoes, which increased the price of her outfit. Her golden blonde hair (natural) was worn in a simple French twist with a few pieces framing her pretty face. She didn’t even really wear make-up, but somehow still managed to look better than me.

Her body language showed she was at ease but in control of the situation. “Huh?”

“We were talking and then you zoned out.”

It was far too common these days for me to become easily distracted by the world. I marveled how the majority of people outside could go about their lives without feeling as if the ground was pulled from under them and they were just falling into the abyss. “Why am I here?”

Her green eyes softened. “I think you and I are both more than aware of the circumstances that have brought you here. Do we need a refresher?”

I sighed and turned back towards the window, watching as the tiny people scurried to get out of the rain’s reach. “I used to be like them.”

“Like who?”

“The tiny people.”

I could feel her bewilderment without even needing to look at her. I barely made sense these days and she was the only person I spoke to anymore. It was more because I had to than anything if I even wanted to reclaim any piece of my old life.

My ears picked up the sound of her shifting and setting down her pad. She recorded the sessions as well, but she loved her notepad as it helped her keep track of her thoughts in regards to our meetings. “In what way?”

She was about self reflection. I sort of hated her for it, but loved her at the same time as she held a mirror up and forced me to see the parts of myself I ignored for so long.

“Things didn’t bother me. When there was a setback, I could recover easily without breaking. I thought I could handle it all.” _How wrong was I?_ “Most of them will never really know how it feels.”

“How what feels?” I had already opened up more to her this session that I originally intended, but on occasion I couldn’t help it. Having no one else to talk to in your life made one a bit desperate for company even the required kind.

I shook my head and continued to watch the tiny beings living their life. The rain stopped and rays of light were peeking through the clouds. The people were coming out of their shelters as if nothing ever been wrong. Their lives continued.

I turned away and splayed out on the available sofa. The ceiling tiles weren’t all the same color, which irritated me. “Are you accustomed to a life where everything is seemingly perfect?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. I mean at first glance, it was as if I had it all. I had a husband, a successful career, a lovely home, and wonderful friends. I have a degree and I had done everything right in my life. I finished school, met someone I love, and got married. We bought a house and started our careers. We planned to wait a few more years for kids.” I scoffed and then began to laugh at the situation. Tears formed in my eyes, but not the weepy sort. Well sort of the sad kind, but more so the hysterical kind.

“Isn’t that hilarious? Here I was waiting because he thought it would be better to be financially secure and then when we were in a good place to at the very least start discussions, he halts them. Says it still isn’t the right time and that he wants to wait a little longer.”

The memory of **THE DAY** hit me and I shied away from it. I wasn’t entirely ready to face all of the repercussions of what happened. It was part of the reason I was where I was, not that I had much choice.

“Are you still not ready to discuss it?”

I glared at her and she backed off immediately. She knew the more she pushed, the more I retreated inside of myself. She was cautious as she recognized the signs of me closing myself off. She exhaled softly signaling to me that the session was over. She wasn’t able to get more out of me, and it was better to start fresh another day than to continue on with this one. “Okay Claire, we will talk again Friday. I want you to find an outlet. It could be writing, drawing…” she hesitated and I knew what word she was going to say next. “Dancing.”

I abruptly sat up and pushed myself off the sofa. “Goodbye.”

My drive home was silent. There was no music left in my life. I preferred the still silences where the only sounds available for my ears were those of passing cars, my own breathing, and outside elements.

The apartment I called ‘home’ was a mere shadow of my former residence. It was in a decent neighborhood, but it wasn’t the brownstone I formerly lived in. It didn’t have the comforting, cozy feeling, not that my old home possessed that general feeling any longer either. I found a spot for my car and just sat in my car for a few minutes.

It was difficult after each session. I felt raw and exposed even though I barely revealed anything. The bits and pieces I did share had me feeling as if I would fall apart all over again. I wasn’t sure I could disclose more about why I was there, although we were both aware she knew quite a bit about the situation. She told me though it was more about coming to terms with events. She couldn’t just tell me as it was for me to work out on my own with assistance.

If I wasn’t prepared to divulge, we wouldn’t get anywhere. Dr. Clarkson was far too much of an optimist for her profession in my opinion. She hoped for far to much, especially where I was concerned. She must’ve seen her fair share of hopeless cases. I could dream to be considered in that collection in the future. For the moment, she still held out hope that I could be helped. Her faith in me was certainly refreshing, but definitely misplaced and better spent elsewhere.

The sun crested over the water, creating a beautiful effect with purples and pinks reflected on the silky surface. The sun burned an incredible shade of yellow and orange as it lowered behind the shoreline.

The view and the beach were the only features that made living in this apartment even remotely bearable. The white paneled structure was no brownstone, but it wasn’t a fortress of lies and betrayal either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know when I will update all of my other stories. I'm a bit stuck where they are concerned. 
> 
> QotW: What kind of an accent do you have? Depending on the situation I alternate between a southern, valley girl, and basic American accent.It’s


	2. Breathe Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys!!! I love your enthusiasm. It's not going to be fairly straightforward and it'll be a few chapters before Jamie enters the picture. She's not ready for him yet.

_I was utterly exhausted at the end of the night. When my friends asked if I wanted to go out for drinks, I turned down the invitation in favor of going home to my husband. They catcalled and made their lewd jokes, all in good fun of course and wished me a good night. I waved at them as they collectively entered the cab ready for a night out on the town. We all had the following day off so they were going to make the most of their free time._

_My own cab was waiting for me at the curb. I rarely drove to work as it simply was easier to take a taxi or on the rare day the subway. It all depended on if I felt like walking the few blocks from the station to work, or if I preferred to save my energy._

_Some days were far too lovely to not spend at least part of it outside, enjoying the scenery. My job required me to spend far more time inside than outside, and I found myself longing for fresh air or what passed for it New York and the small park a few blocks from my home._

_The lovely brick of our Brooklyn brownstone appeared before me like a beacon in the dark. A smile overcame me as I gazed up at the second story. Despite the fact it was late, my husband was still awake and waiting for me. The lights were still on, and it warmed my insides to think of him waiting for me._

_I paid the driver and watched as he disappeared around the corner. I turned towards my house._

_The building was lovely and had been in his family for four generations on his mother’s side of the family. It was built before the turn of the last century and had three stories. The home had been restored not long before we had moved in as no one had lived in it for around five years. His parents resided in England, and his mother was the only heir to the family fortune_ _until he came along. The brownstone was rented out to tenants for a while until it fell into disrepair and failed to meet code._

_It was everything one could want in their home and more. I was mesmerized the first time I saw it, and easily pictured turning it into a home and eventually starting a family._

_My key slid into the lock with a loud click, and the first thing I noticed was the eerie silence. It wasn’t unusual for me to walk into a quiet home, but there was something off putting about it._

My eyes flashed open and I turned to catch sight of my alarm clock. Six am blinked back at me. I was dreaming about that night again.

A groan escaped me as I wondered about the plausibility of my not leaving my bed at all today. It wasn’t as if I really had anywhere to be and I certainly had nothing completely pressing to do. The groceries could wait another day. I wasn’t all that hungry in the first place, and mostly ate enough to not complain about hunger pains. Although I didn’t always feel those.

Dr. Clarkson would be disappointed when I relayed the news about my day. A part of me cared and felt guilty about the effort she was making, but mostly I didn’t care at all. What did it matter? Nothing mattered.

I pulled the duvet over my head and fell back asleep. It wasn’t elusive either. Sleep was far easier to come by than anything else these days.

The lone bottle of pills sat on my bathroom counter unopened.  I didn’t feel they were necessary and they weren’t going to make my life go away. It was a different sort of solitude to feel nothing, almost a relief after everything.

Dr. Clarkson said that it was the illness talking when I had thoughts of that nature. Personally I disagreed with her assertion. Wasn’t it common for psychiatrists to prescribe medication and diagnose someone with something? At least that was my unprofessional opinion, and anyways I didn’t want the help.

I drifted in and out of sleep. By the time the sun had nearly set, I still hadn’t found any sort of motivation to push myself out of bed. I laid there like a rag doll, which were made from scraps and scraps were all I had left inside of the person I was. There was simply nothing left of me.

My phone began to ring with the standard ring tone. I hadn’t changed it from the preset settings. I had no motivation to pick out specific tones for each individual or even to pick out one I liked. It didn’t matter. It was all pointless in the end. Who would hear it but myself? I rolled over, prepared to ignore it figuring whoever was on the other end of the line would catch a hint and piss off. Not many people had my new number anyway, and the ones who did knew how much I didn’t want to talk to anyone regardless of the circumstance.

A scream almost burst forth when the person dialed again. I snatched the phone off my nightstand and slid my finger across the screen to answer. “Hello?” I grunted. My manners and any sort of pleasantries disappeared the day my life did.

“Claire, darling,” I rolled my eyes. “You haven’t been answering your phone and I’ve been ringing you for ages.”

My mother was always one for histrionics. “Mum, you’ve only rang the last three days. Normally you’re more perceptive to my moods.”

I could picture her rolling her own eyes in turn. “You’re far too melodramatic dear. You’re too young to be this disillusioned. Besides your father has been quite worried about you. You rarely check in. You know how we worry.” All they ever seemed to do was worry since the incident. “I know how you hate to call or burden anyone with your problems, but Claire you’ve cut yourself off from everyone who cares about you.” A derisive snort escaped me. “Oh don’t be that way, I’m still your mother. I’ll love you as long as you and I both live and even after.”

There wasn’t a quick way to get off the phone with her. If I didn’t play the game right, I could expect more phone calls in the future . It was the last thing I wanted.

“How is your therapy dear?”

“Fine.”

“Is it helping?”

“I guess.”

“Give it time love. I’m sure you’ll feel like your old self again.” _I doubted it._ “It takes some patience, but you’ll find your way and be better than you were in the past.” I wasn’t sure why everyone possessed such high amounts of optimism where I was concerned. “Dad wants to talk. I’ll put him on.”

“Hey Claire bug, how are you? You can be honest. I’m not your mum.”

That was always dad. He and I meshed more than I did with my mother. I loved them equally, but mum and I were far too similar in personality and disposition to regularly cooperate and play nice with each other. Dad usually played referee when we battled. It resulted in far more defeats for me as my mother had played the game much longer. She was also my mother. I never had a chance to be victorious.

I sighed. It was harder lying to dad. It wasn’t exactly impossible though. “I’m alright dad. I’m taking it a day at a time.” I tried to infuse some positivity into my tone. I prayed it was enough to convince him.

“I don’t want you to be miserable your whole life. Don’t let this affect the rest of your life. While you have been altered by past events, I know you’re strong enough to overcome anything.”

Honestly where did this confidence come from? Had everyone forgotten?

I hadn’t. While I ultimately failed, I couldn’t help but wonder what if I had succeeded.

Slowly, I managed to sit up. It wasn’t getting out of bed, however it was still progress. “I know dad. I’ve terrified you and mum, and you just worry about me. It wasn’t meant to be like this.” I closed my eyes, trying to hold the tears back. I had shed enough tears.

My parents had never liked my taste in men. Every boy I ever brought home was scrutinized and deemed unworthy or ill fitting in my parents’ eyes for some reason or another. The worst part was how correct their initial observations were. They  seemed particularly tuned into me and my needs, and knew even when I was entirely unaware how none of them were compatible. I was silly and allowed my rebellious nature to take the wheel on more than one occasion. It was textbook.

My parents told me no. I said yes. _Sigh_ , I could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble if I had listened to them initially. Instead even as a young adult hearing my parents disagree with me on my choice of partner brought about a small bit of defiance. It was an ingrained reaction and one I was beginning to understand as a tad self-destructive.

“Oh Claire,” I heard the sympathy in his voice. He knew how hard all of this was for me. “I’m sorry life didn’t work out the way you plan-“

“Is this where you say I told you so? That you thought my husband was a lying shite all along and I brought this onto myself.”

“You know I would never say such a thing to you. You’re my daughter. I will support you no matter what even if you marry a lying sack of shite.”

For the first time in months, I laughed. I genuinely laughed so hard I started to cry. “It’s alright bug, it’ll work out. You just hang in there.”

When my dad said it, my life didn’t seem in such a sad state of disrepair. “I’ll try.”

“I love you sweetheart and your mum does as well.”

“I love you too dad.”

“We will be there at the end of the month. Try to get out more love even if it’s for ten minutes a day.” The worry permeated his voice and once again the guilt overwhelmed me for what the situation had done to my parents.

They were close to their retirement and shouldn’t have to worry about me the way they were. “I can’t make any promises.”

“I just ask that you try. I’ll let you go now.”

I stared at my phone in my hand for longer than I thought necessary as I considered my dad’s words. I knew he was doing his best to understand the situation at least as far as the facts went, but living through it all firsthand was an entirely different experience.

It was personal for me in a way it wasn’t for others.

I had to live with it every single day and had the constant reminders in my life. My parents weren’t directly involved and had the ability to not continuously be bombarded with thoughts of it. I fell back with a loud huff as I thought about what my dad wanted me to promise him.

What was truly worrying was that my parents felt it necessary to stay up and calm me. They could’ve called at any other point in the day instead it was past midnight. Granted it was a Saturday and neither of my parents worked on weekends, however they must’ve been more concerned about me than either let on. It left them quite anxious to leave me here after everything, but I was adamantly opposed to returning to England where I was sure to be a laughing stock amongst my friends. Or I supposed they were really his friends. I wasn’t sure when that occurred either. When had my life become so entangled with his that I couldn’t recall the last time I had friends that were solely mine and not ours (his)?

My mother discouraged revolving my life around him when we married as she told me it was necessary for one’s own sanity to have your own life separate from your significant other. A couple could have shared friends, but it was important to also create boundaries. I ignored all of her warnings as I thought there was no harm in merging our lives.

We had been together for ten years. It was an arduous task attempting to separate all that we built together in the beginning.

The worst part of the whole thing was not knowing when the cracks began to form and the end was in sight. Was it doomed from the start? Was I simply too naïve to notice when it was falling apart? Did I pay too much or not enough attention to him?

It was hard to pinpoint an exact moment. Dr. Clarkson told me there usually wasn’t a specific moment where things began to go wrong in any relationship. Instead it was several tiny moments that culminated into a moment that had the power to change everything. She said a relationship was sort of like a mirror. If you threw something at the mirror, fissures appeared. Some were small and some quite large, but when looking at yourself, only a fragmented reflection stared back. The mirror was the relationship and the cracks are the issues in an individual relationship. Without repairing what was broken, the cracks were always there.

I told her it was all bullshit.

The issue was that I wasn’t as disbelieving as I pretended. I don’t think she believed me either. I lacked any true conviction behind my words, yet there was some .

I still wasn’t ready to admit everything. It hurt too much to look at it all. I could never be impartial either, not that objectivity was a strong suit of mine in the first place. My mother accused me of failing at the task when it came to my husband.

My eyes burned with tears. I covered my eyes as I tried to keep the tears at bay. I wasn’t weak, nor was I so pathetic that I still cried over a man who left me nearly six months ago.

The weight resting on my heart told an entirely different story. I was pathetic and sad, unable to move on from someone who didn’t want me.

It was a single tear at first, but I had never been able to stop at one. Before I knew it, a choked sob burst forth until I found I couldn’t stop. So much time past, yet it was never enough. Some people moved on from their spouses easily after divorce, while others drowned in their own misery, bemoaning their fates and hating their lives.

I watched those silly romcoms as a teenager and commented on the feeble women who allowed men to dictate how they lived their lives. Their worlds revolved around the actions of men, and when events played out and they were left scorned and/or betrayed, I never understood why they took them back.

At least my sixteen year old self hadn’t.

It wasn’t until I was willing to put the past aside and continue a relationship with a man who had shown at every turn that he wasn’t as in love with me as I was with him. I begged. I actually begged. It was disgusting in retrospect to view myself in such a light, but when matters of the heart were at stake, what can you do except fight?

My head pounded. For a brief second, I entertained the idea of actually getting out of the bed for a painkiller, but even that wasn’t enough.

Ultimately, the pressing reminder of burning bladder sent me careening out of bed and straight to the bathroom before I peed myself.

I returned to my bed feeling much lighter. I knew it wasn’t healthy in the slightest for me to hold my bladder as I could end up with an infection. I tried some days. I really did.

My parents and I, perhaps even Dr. Clarkson as well would disagree on how much effort I was giving to my treatment. 

Like I said though, there wasn’t much left of me after everything.

The ashes of my former self were scattered in the wind, and there was no recovering that girl. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night in question will be revealed in flashbacks as we go forward. It's going to be a long ride so be ready. 
> 
> QotW: What's your phone background if you have one?  
> Mine is Mulder/Scully from The X-Files and the other is me and my little cousin playing in the rain.


	3. Chasing Cars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideally I will post twice a week. I've got enough of a head start to be able to do this. I don't know how long the story will be as of yet.   
> Thank you to everyone who has shown an interest in this story.

The sun reflected off the water. The effect of it was somewhat blinding. The brightness didn’t deter me as I unfolded my blanket and shook it out before placing it on the ground. 

I covered my eyes and looked out to the shining waters, watching as the water rippled and lapped at the shore. There was a slight breeze in the air. As it passed, it ruffled my hair and lightly tickled my neck. The effect was more than a bit calming as I gingerly took a seat on the blanket. 

The beaches back in England weren’t anything like the beaches here. The water was never nearly as warm and the weather was more than a bit fickle, especially during the summer. The unpredictability was something we accepted, and we were prepared for the possibility of rain. 

Here the rain was still somewhat unpredictable, but it was a lot less likely. The temperatures were also a lot warmer than I was accustomed to back home; it was a check in favor of my relocation stateside when my husband first suggested the possibility. I had no way of knowing then how any of our choices would eventually play out, nor that the outcome would be me in this particular spot. 

The sounds of children splashing and screaming brought my attention back to the present. These days I had to find ways to tether myself to the present instead of thinking about what once was. 

It was difficult to say the least, but sometimes I used the noises surrounding me to ground myself in reality. 

My eyes roamed over my fellow beach goers as they enjoyed the warmth of an Indian summer sun. There weren’t too many days of nice weather left, so we were taking advantage of every minute. I caught sight of my notebook sticking out of my bag.

A reluctant sigh escaped my lips as I considered whether or not I wanted to open that particular can of worms. 

There were other factors to consider, but I wasn’t ready to take the steps. In some ways, it felt as if that particular chapter of my life was closed to me. There would be no more additions to it. 

The most I could manage at this particular moment in my life was to attend regular therapy sessions. Beyond that, I found my motivation and effort to be quite lacking. 

I caught myself as my hand moved towards my bag. Slowly, I forced my eyes shut and took several deep calming breaths. “Are you alright?”

Cracking open a single eye revealed a woman a few years or so older than me staring back at me with concern in her emerald eyes. They were a lovely shade and not much like my own boring shade of brown. I realized she was waiting for me to respond. I was out of practice conversing with most people as my therapist allowed me to talk when I wanted or to simply waste an hour not saying anything. My parents did more of the talking and extracting promises from me, while I was mostly required to acquiesce. “Oh I’m sorry, yes I’m fine.”

Her brows furrowed and she appeared dubious of my response. I wasn’t the best liar, never had been. Although, I was good at being deceived. I was quite proficient.

“Yes sorry, um just one of those days,” I shrugged, hoping she would just leave. 

Feelings were not my area of expertise, and if I could barely discuss with my therapist my inner thoughts, I most assuredly couldn’t speak to a virtual stranger. She would think I was mad, some kind of nutter who should be kept away from everyone.

“I’ve just seen you a few times and you’ve appeared…” her brows drew together as she attempted to find the right words. “Sad, angry, I’m not sure I’m using the correct words.”

Unobservant was the perfect word. I hadn’t noticed this woman in all of my trips to the beach all summer, yet somehow she saw me, well I had seen her. I just had never given her much thought. My gaze passed over my fellow beach goers regularly, never quite settling on anything. I envied them with their seemingly perfect lives. They spent the day enjoying time with their families, catching a bit of sun, playing in the water, and I was left to watch as eventually one by one they all left. 

She worked it out I wasn’t entirely alright either. It made me feel more than a bit uncomfortable and unnerved to know someone had seen me when I was trying to be invisible. I lowered my eyes, attempting to hide from her knowing gaze. She wasn’t easily fooled. “Now I’m a bit embarrassed. I thought I had the perfect stoic expression.”

She laughed. “Maybe, but I’m a high school counselor. I’ve seen it all and know what it looks like when someone is trying to hide.”

_ Shite!  _ “That is an interesting line of work.”

“It does provide a wonderful insight into not only teens but their adult counterparts. So is everything really alright? I’ve seen you on the entire spectrum of emotions all summer, and felt too shy to ask before now.”

_ Huh?  _ A bit of pink crept into my cheeks and I hoped she assumed it was just exposure to the sun. I rubbed my forehead assessing my options. I could take the rude option and be the stereotypical rude Brit (somewhat true), or I could perhaps gain a new friend. Every time I had seen her over the summer, she made it a goal or mission or whatever to wave or greet me in some fashion. I wasn’t in any sort of state to be particularly friendly to anyone, especially when I didn’t understand their motives so I walked past without giving her any indication I noticed her. She brushed it off and just greeted me the next time she saw me.

I sighed. I didn’t have it in me to be rude to someone so undeserving of it. There were others who deserved it far more than this woman. She had showed me kindness in a time when I believed it to be dead. I lowered my eyes. “I’ve recently divorced. I only moved here at the start of summer, and it’s been a bit of an adjustment.” That was an understatement, but I still wasn’t sure how much information I wanted to divulge to a stranger. 

Her face was pensive as she plopped in the sand beside me without invitation. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say it wasn’t amicable.”

I scoffed at the very idea. “Not bloody likely.”

“Where did you live before, if you don’t mind my asking?” Strangely enough, I didn’t.

“New York, we had a Brooklyn brownstone that had been passed down in his family.”

Her head nodded. “What made you choose to go farther north? Why not go back to England is it?” 

My lips twitched and I almost wanted to smile. “I am from England. My hus-“ I sucked in a breath. “ My ex-husband is as well. Going back home feels as if I’m taking a step back. My parents wanted me to, yet…” I trailed off, unsure how to properly vocalize my thoughts for her to understand. 

While this conversation caused a slight pang to my heart, it wasn’t as difficult to talk to her about this. “And yet?”

“Yet I viewed it more as running away or seeking the protection and comfort of my parents. They are nearing retirement and it’s unfair of me to burden them with my shortcomings.” I angrily threw my arms up and slapped them down into the sound out of sheer frustration. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to tell someone we don’t know because what does it matter if they judge us. They don’t know enough about us to make a fair call on our character, and sometimes an outsider’s perspective helps us navigate through our own lives.”

She made a fair point. One of the reasons I fled New York was the fear everyone I knew would discover the truth and I couldn’t bear to hear their mockery or see their pity. When you surround yourself with snakes and liars, there is no one to blame when they turn their backs on you in the end. Watching someone fall from grace was entertainment for the people I associated with in that city. 

It was never meant for me, yet in the whirlwind that had become my life, I became someone unrecognizable. I did and said things, I found shameful and deep down knew they were reprehensible when it happened. The problem was I discovered that when a person was immersed in a situation, it’s difficult to take a step back and evaluate the choices they’re making. It was only through hindsight when we saw the effects of our actions. 

My New York persona nearly erased everything about me I once loved. I thought I had to trade away who I really was to have what I thought I wanted. It was only predictable then that it imploded in my face and left me feeling as if I were in pieces. 

The late summer breeze tickled my skin, distracting me briefly from my thoughts. I could still hear the children in the distance, the water as it hit the shore, and if I strained my ears, cars as they drove down the street. The noises helped to ground me and keep me present for it was something I struggled with constantly after New York. Sometimes the world around me wasn’t enough to hold me here, almost as if gravity no longer held me in place and I was floating away. 

“Sometimes I think I deserved what happened,” I admitted. It felt good to say those words. “I wish I could say I was more like who I am now, but that’s not true.”

“What I tell my students when they go through difficult times where they’re constantly questioning everything, is that we are never who we are when we first begin. Do you think a runner after they cross the finish line is the same person they were when they started the race? Each experience helps us discover different facets of ourselves and our own limits. Whether that is a positive or a negative it is all subjective. While you perhaps feel the last few years were a setback in developing into the person you want to be, in a few years you might think all of this is relative. We are all on a constant journey. We never just stop and say this is the finished product.”

While I comprehended perfectly what she was saying, I also don’t think I’m ready for it. It would mean admitting these last few years, while not necessarily a waste of my time, were a brief stop not a permanent destination.

She patted my arm for a second as if to tell me it was okay. “You come to those sorts of conclusions on your own.”

It reminded me of something my therapist would say. She was all about self-discovery and personal revelations. She never pushed harder than what was necessary. “You sound like my therapist.”

She laughed and I joined her. For the first time in ages, my soul was lighter. I was still burdened by the past, but part of me began to realize it wouldn’t last forever. Everything wasn't so dark, and maybe I could leave the shadows. 

“I’ve just realized I don’t even know your name.” I talked to a complete stranger without asking her name or offering up my own. She had such an inviting demeanor that I was honestly forgot we weren’t really acquainted except for some trite pleasantries. 

“I’m Rebecca.” She held out her hand. “Rebecca Stevens.”

I took hold with a firm shake. “Claire Beauchamp.” It took a lot of practice to no longer hesitate using my maiden name again. 

“Nice to meet you, I know this is a bit awkward, but if you want to ever hangout or something, talk, watch movies, or even sit in silence, I’m available.”

My mouth fell open. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. The longer I stared, the more it dawned on me I was making her uncomfortable with my unchanging expression and my lack of response. 

She flushed a dark red and shook her head. “Sorry that was ridi-“

“No… no It’s alright. I’m just not accustomed to people being genuinely nice.” It was the truth. “I’ll take you up on your offer. I don’t really know anyone except my landlord, and it would be nice to have a single friend in the city.”

~~~~SitW~~~~ SitW~~~~ SitW~~~~ SitW~~~~ SitW~~~~ SitW~~~~

Three days later I was relaying the encounter to my therapist. 

“Did you know two of your ceiling tiles don’t match?”

I sensed her humor, but also her exasperation at my deflection. It wasn’t intentional by any means. “Well I didn’t until this moment. Does it bother you?”

She knew it did. “Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

Whys had never been terribly important to me in the past. Dr. Clarkson liked to examine motivations for certain actions and triggers. She told me during our first session ‘people never do anything without a reason.’ At the time, I heavily disagreed with her, but I was slowly coming around to the idea that maybe everyone had a reason for why they behaved the way they did. “I’ve never really stared at a ceiling for this long or this many times to notice such a thing.”

“It’ll be something to think about for next time. Let’s focus on this time, so you said you went out and talked to someone?”

“She initiated the conversation with me, however I figured it counted as me talking to another person.” There was a tiny smile adorning her face. “It was weird as normally all of my walls go up and I close myself off, yet with this woman I wanted to share personal details with her. I stopped myself from getting too heavy because she is still at the acquaintance stage and I don’t want her to think I’m a complete nutter.” There were already people outside of my parents and therapist who knew the extent of my internal damage. Sharing it with someone else made it even more real than it already was. Sometimes I could simply ignore it and I tried, so hard.

“Why do you assume she would think you’re crazy? You said she’s a high school counselor.”

“Your point?”

“Claire, she would understand then. The fancy degrees aren’t just decoration. She would’ve studied psychology in college. I know it isn’t easy for you to open up, especially given everything that’s happened, but if you never give people the chance, how do you expect to find people who will be there for you.? You’ve admitted yourself that in the past you wish you had been more careful in your selection of friends.”

I took a deep breath and inhaled the soft scent of her vanilla candles. The room temperature was kept at standard. The lighting wasn’t bright and the light grey walls were decorated with diplomas and inspirational bullshit meant to cheer on patients as they went through the therapeutic process. 

“You’re right.”

“While I appreciate it, I don’t think it is for me to be right in this situation. It’s about how you feel.” Wasn’t that the crux? Everyone following the incident wanted to know about my feelings and thoughts, yet in the months leading up to everything no one asked about me at all. No one cared enough to show the slightest interest. I supposed there were my parents, but an entire ocean interfered with that. By then I had become quite adept at using the words ‘I’m fine’ and having people believe me. I almost believed myself in those moments.

I sat up quickly and glared at her. “Do you ever get tired of saying those words? I mean I’m sure you’ve spouted that shite to multiple patients over the years. Do you believe it?”

It unnerved me how she didn’t show the slightest reaction at my words. There wasn’t anger etched into her face, nor did I see an ounce of humor bouncing around in her eyes or twitching on her lips. She was a trained professional and likely my words had no effect. 

She straightened her posture and set her pen on her pad as her hazel eyes caught my brown ones. It was as if she were seeing into the depths of my soul and had no qualms about what she saw there. “Why is deflection your first tactic when you’re uncomfortable? You seem to direct a lot of questions back to me instead of focusing on yourself. Therapy isn’t for the therapist. It is for the patient. It is important to remind you at every turn that your feelings are valid. You deserve to feel what you feel without feeling any guilt.”

“Why do you always ask me that?” I lifted a finger. “First you ask me how I’m feeling when I’m in your office,” I lifted another finger. “Then you’re always mentioning that I am clearly uncomfortable as I deflect your questions. Don’t you get tired of going in circles. You never tell me I’m wrong or show any outward emotion that would lend credit to the idea of what you think. We both know why I’m here, and it isn’t because of freewill.” My eyes were probably blazing and my chest heaved with the force of my words. 

Nothing seemed to faze this woman, and I was beginning to think she had seriously seen it all.

“No you’re not, but you do sound as if you want to give up. I don’t think you really want to.”

I frowned.  _ Did I?  _ It was hard to know my own thoughts. It amazed me at how easily she read me, although I’ve been called transparent in the past. My eyes fell to my lap where I noticed a loose thread on my jeans. I was tempted to play with it to avoid another conversation. I knew I would only prove her right if I got sidetracked again. 

“I don’t want to give up. I can’t say that’s always been the case, and that it might not be the case again the future. I just wish it was easy.” I knew her next words before she said them and found myself grinning. 

“Nothing worth having ever is.” She said it with such confidence that I had to believe her. “Why do you hate discussing how you’re feeling?”

I leaned back into the sofa and stared at the ceiling once more. I couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment where I decided that I would keep my emotions in rather than pouring them out. It was more than likely, as Dr. Clarkson would say, a culmination of a series of events that led me to choose isolation. “I think it started with my husband.” She didn’t interrupt to remind me we were no longer married. “When we were dating, he was different and not at the same time. It was difficult to read him. He wasn’t good with emotional displays. I was young at the time of our meeting and my uncle passed a few months after we started dating.”

“Did he tell you or did you assume?”

It was a murky time. The memories were all muddled as I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. If I had had my head on better then, I could’ve avoided a lot of poor decision making. “It would maybe be a combination of the two. He was very stiff at the funeral, and while he was polite, he ushered the people who came to pay their respects down the line.” 

At the time, it hadn’t bothered me. I was in a haze of grief. “I was grieving so it didn’t occur to me he was uncomfortable. It was always like that with our relationship.”

“Don’t blame yourself for not noticing at the time Claire. We can’t ever go back, only forward, and while there might’ve been signs along the way, you loved him.”

If only I could really stop loving him. “I wish love wasn’t so hard. I just think I let it cloud my brain. You talk about these signs, and they were there. There are moments where I can see how incompatible we were. While we argued more vigorously towards the end, there are plenty of arguments in-between that signaled to me he wasn't the one. It wouldn't have ever been as hard as it was.” I grew up watching my parents and how they never fought in front of me except for a few times, but they always reminded each other how much they loved one another. They supported one another even if they didn't approve of the other's actions. Even after all these years, they were still very much in love. I envied them. 

“Right now you’re in a sort of limbo. You’re still processing everything and storing it away, and you’re also recalling at the same time. You’re going to have more of these moments where the rose colored glasses will come off.”

I nodded. It scared me to know she was right. “Do you think people just delude themselves into being happy?”

“No.” She said, her eyes firm and fixed on me. “I do think people have to put in the effort. Marriage isn’t like in a fairytale. You don’t get the happy ending because you want it and kissed a prince. There’s a reason they fade to black when prince kisses the girl or the characters get married. No one wants the magic spell of love to be broken.”

She made a fair point. What five year old girl wanted to see the realities of marriage and life, or the toll it took on a couple? Perhaps there was a reason Ariel and Eric only ever had the one child. Some of the princesses never had their own sequels, what if they didn’t marry the princes with whom they had fallen in love. I had watched a lot of Disney in my youth and a part of me idealized the concept of true love. I thought it would be simple like it was for them, well aside from the evil villain trying to break them apart. I believed for so long I would meet a man and just know, and we would live this wonderful, almost fairy-tale like life. I adjusted that thinking a bit as I grew, but part of me still kept those childish dreams with me. 

Her words stayed with me as I headed out to my car. During my marriage, I definitely wanted the easy path. I resolved arguments by not objecting, but immediately apologizing for demurring. I wanted him happy and sacrificed my own for his. Dr. Clarkson didn’t disagree, however she also didn’t approve. I transitioned into a gormless git without a backbone. I became the type of woman i scorned in my youth and regularly called weak for settling for a man who could never be what they wanted. I was beginning to see he never made the same sacrifices in return. It was me who continuously called a draw and issued apologies even if I wasn't the one to blame for whatever fight it was that week. 

The problem with this revelation was that it brought with it another question. Who was I? Was I that woman who let a man run all over her and would've forgiven him all his sins as long as he chose me? 

Reclaiming my identity was more than taking back my maiden name. It was a huge step in moving on, at the same time it was also one done purely out of spite. I hadn’t wanted to share a name or anything with him, and changing my name was one way to achieve that. I didn’t do it with clarity but with malice. I wanted to hurt him by showing him he no longer had any claim to me. 

Changing my surname back only confused my already distorted sense of self. It wasn’t the all out victory I first imagined, then again I don’t think I had expected it to be. 

I thought at the time it would make feel loads better, instead there was a hollow ache in my chest. Some days I hardly noticed its’ presence, however on my darkest days, it tugged on my heartstrings and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. The pain was excruciating and endless; I wanted it to go away, yet it refused to fade. 

My dilemma was likely related to me still having deep feelings for him even after the incident and all the events seceding it. 

My phone vibrated as I started the car. I fell back against the seat with a huff as I deliberated whether or not to check. I knew it wasn’t the man I formerly called the love of my life as I changed my number after moving. I did it for my own peace of mind. I needed to get over him, and he wasn’t really allowing me the opportunity with his constant pleas and pestering. The day he showed up at my place of work was the day when it all sort of just fell apart for me. 

The recovery process was just that, a process. He nearly destroyed me, but I vowed to myself never again would I allow a man to rule my life. It was time for me to figure out what it was I wanted and go after it without worrying about anything. Then again, I had no idea what it was I desired. So much of my life was wrapped up in his and the life we created together.  

Slightly wary, i hesitantly picked up my phone. The screen lit up, and I saw it was text from my new friend asking if I wanted to meet her for coffee. I didn’t hesitate to respond a quick yes. 

It was a better alternative than moping around my flat the way I had been since I moved to the area. I couldn’t continue to cry any longer over a man who shouldn’t mean a damn thing to me. I had to be stronger than that. I had to pick myself up because he didn't deserve to win. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Claire does show signs of depression, she won't always be depressed. I promise. It also isn't just in relation to the end of her marriage to her POS ex. We will get into all of the details as we get further into the story. 
> 
> QotD: If you could visit any time period what would it be?   
> I always struggle with this. I think I would like to go back to see Queen when Freddie was alive, or maybe like the Elizabethan era.


	4. You've Got a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll either be posting S/F or M/F. I won't do any midweek postings like I have with previous stories.

I straightened my blouse and grabbed my jean jacket. I realized I was only prolonging leaving my car. Dr. Clarkson would say it was me avoiding and that I should take a minute to think about why I was hesitating. Truthfully, it was my anxiety spiking. Social situations brought a severe amount of discomfort and panic, which was only another reason why I preferred my bed. A bed couldn’t hurt me, but people could. They hurt one another every day. No one could betray or hurt you if you never gave them the chance to know you. It was a bleak existence, but it had been mine. 

Prior to the last several months, at least not that I could recognize, I hadn’t ever experienced anxiety that crippled me to the point I regularly suffered from attacks at the mere thought of leaving my apartment or talking to anyone. Therapy wasn’t really a choice so much as it was a requirement. “Take a deep breath Claire,” slowly I inhaled and then exhaled. “You’re just meeting for coffee.”

After a few minutes, I felt my heart rate begin to slow as I focused on my breathing.  _ In… 1, 2, 3 out… 1, 2, 3,  _ I repeated what had become my mantra when I felt my anxiety starting to get the best of me. I had to focus on the small things like my breathing. My therapist encouraged me to start meditating to help with my attacks, and I found the techniques to be beneficial when I found myself in moments like this where I felt as if I were losing control.

I wasn’t sure which impaired my life more, the anxiety or the depression. Each had a way of interfering with my day to day activities, and both contributed heavily to my lack of interest in leaving my flat. 

With some trepidation, I finally left the safety of my car and made my way into the local coffee shop. There were wide windows that looked out onto the shining water. There was a small patch of beach where a couple sat on a blanket, a few kids tossed a frisbee, and I saw a dog digging. It was breathtaking and made the place seem even more inviting.

I spotted Rebecca easily as she picked at a danish, taking small sips of her coffee, and looking at something on her phone. As if sensing my eyes on her, she glanced up and waved me over. There was a friendly smile on her face, and I strangely found myself returning it. I was unaccustomed to smiling; frowning or even a neutral expression had become the norm for me since my entire life changed. 

I sighed out of relief. My anxiety hadn’t quite dissipated, but it was much calmer. It was more on par with a stormy day than a raging hurricane. 

There were a wide range of drinks on the menu, and I decided on an iced chai. I needed something soothing. “We will bring your drink when it’s ready.”

I smiled at her as I completed my purchase and added a five dollar tip as well. She was nice and I was feeling generous. I headed over to where Rebecca sat. Her eyes roamed over something of interest, which she immediately set aside as soon as I sat down. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I noticed when we met, she was an animated person who talked with her hands more than once. It came as no surprise when she dismissed my worries with a single wave. “Not at all, just a student as school, and nothing that can’t wait until school tomorrow.”

“Oh okay. If you’re sure.”

She smiled. “I am. Trust me, it’s nothing very serious. Teens tend to lead dramatic lives and feel as if everything in the world is about them. It isn’t anything I haven’t experienced in the past.” Becca had a way of easing people into uncomfortable situations simply by being herself. 

“How did you decide you wanted to be a guidance counselor? And what exactly do you do?”

“It does tend to be a very American custom. In high school, I had a guidance counselor who was the most amazing woman. It’s a cliché.” She shrugged her should as if to say ‘guilty’. “She pulled me out of class my sophomore year and for all intents and purposes told me to cut the shit when I pretended not to know what she was talking about. You see up until my last quarter of my second semester or term maybe is more familiar for you, I was a good student. I had never been in any trouble at school and had straight As. My first semester of my freshman year, my mom died.” She wiped away a few tears. 

I related. Some wounds never fully closed even after the passage of time. There would always be an ache. 

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“She’s been gone for sometime now, but I like to think she’d be proud of me. I basically screwed around after she died and skipped classes. I hung out with the bad crowd, changed my whole look and everything. My dad had my younger brother and sister to worry about, and my older brother was in college. He didn’t have time to worry about me, which is also why I got away with it for so long. I only really passed that year because my first semester triumphed over my shitty grades of my second one.”

“Grade averages are a beautiful thing.” I had a bad term or two myself in secondary school. “So what happened? I’m assuming the following school year went about as well as the previous term.”

She nodded her head and laughed. It sounded like bells. “Over the summer, I abandoned all of my old friends in favor of the new crowd. I almost got a tattoo.” She shook her head at her youthful folly. “It was really dumb of me, but I was hurting. We got a new school counselor over the summer.” 

Her fingers played with her uneaten danish. I could understand how difficult it is to talk about some subjects. “She called me in about two months into the school year. While I wasn’t skipping every class, I had skipped enough to make an impression. She pulled my file and called me into her office. I remember squirming uncomfortably as she stared at me her x-ray eyes.” I snorted. “No, it’s true, or at least seemed that way. She began to schedule regular meetings with me. I didn’t immediately stop skipping classes or hanging out with the people I called my friends.”

“Of course not, we rarely do what we should.” 

“One of the great things about her is she just let me talk it out. She didn’t try to force me to do stuff unlike my dad. I think what really stood out in my mind was when Dr. Anderson took up for me when that crowd I hung out with egged teachers’ cars. I happened to be in her office at the time, but originally was assumed to have participated. She was quick to defend me. No one had really done that for me since my mom died.”

I thought of a man who managed to save me from doing something I would’ve ultimately regretted. “Do you think you would’ve participated in the egging?”

“Probably,” she admitted. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Do you still keep in touch with her?”

There went that tinkling giggle of hers. Her eyes crinkled, and she really was very pretty. “You’ll think I made this up, but she ended up marrying my dad.”

My eyes widened in complete surprise at this news. “Really?” She nodded. “How did that happen?”

“Weirdly enough it was after I went to college so it wasn’t because of me. They had met briefly before, but it wasn’t anything that would’ve stuck out. They ran into each other at the grocery story of all places. She needed help getting something off a shelf and he was there, and for some reason he asked her out.”

“Sounds more like a movie than real life.”

“I thought so too. I came home for winter break my sophomore year and gaped like a fish when she joined us for Christmas. So what’s your story?”

My eyes dropped to the table. During her own story, the barista had brought over my order. I fiddled with the lid of my cup as I tried to find the words to even begin to tell my tale. 

“Alright, I’m getting the impression it’s a bit heavy. So instead why don’t we talk about why you moved from England? How long have you been here?”

“Well that’s easy. I moved here because my husband was offered a professorship at Columbia in their history department. His mother was from New York, and she left him a brownstone in Brooklyn. It was quite lovely.” I missed that house. I hoped I was able to keep the longing from my voice. “We moved here about seven years ago.”

“How did you meet?”

She had been honest with me, so I suppose it required truth on my part as well. Dr. Clarkson told me I couldn’t keep using avoidance tactics to push people away, or I would end up alone. She didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t mind. “We met when I was seventeen. I was in the corps de ballet at the Royal Ballet.” She arched a brow dubiously. “He wanted to meet me after he saw one of my performances. I liked him. I mean he was a bit uptight and not my usual type at all, but I thought it would work out for me this time. He was different and serious about things like relationships.” My shoulders dropped a bit as the memories hit me. Tears clogged my throat and the emotion of it all nearly overwhelmed me. “My parents didn’t like him.” It was the story of my life. 

“I’m guessing it made him even more appealing in your eyes.” I was a statistic. What teenager listened when their parents told them no? 

I nodded my assent at her assumption. “Yes, it didn’t hurt his cause. I always did the opposite of what my parents wanted.  I did love him. A part of me still does. I sometimes wish you could see all the paths and their outcomes before you take them. Then you could make a more informed decision.”

My life would’ve been easier if I could’ve known the different roads available for travel. The difficulty I had with that thought was would I choose differently, or make the same decisions all over again. Life was full of regrets, but was he one of them? 

“Where would the fun be in life if you knew what to expect at each turn? The unpredictability is part of being human. You can’t know all the twists and turns before you take them, or else you’ll never really find your way. You’ve just to live each day as it comes and figure out how to go from there.”

“Are you a fortune cookie?” She chuckled and so did I. 

“Not nearly that predictable, but this is what I would tell my students. It’s hard sometimes, especially when it is all behind you. Hindsight does provide a better vantage point and it sucks on occasion when we see where our decisions have gone. We can easily pinpoint a moment or moments as the case may be where it all began to go downhill. However, that’s the point of hindsight. We can learn from our mistakes for the future. How else do we develop character?”

“I wonder often about if I had listened to my parents when they showed concern when we first began dating, then again I was seventeen and very headstrong. They obviously saw something I didn’t.” It did grate on my nerves still in the present how quick they were to protest my dating and eventually marrying him. They may have attended the wedding, but I didn’t marry with their full support behind me. We patched up our relationship and they amazingly hadn’t rubbed it in my nose when my marriage imploded.

“Aren’t we all?”

My eyes watched as drops of dew dripped onto the table. “Sometimes I think I did it more out of spite.” She didn’t seem surprised, then again she was a high school guidance counselor. “My parents thought I had terrible taste in men, which seems interesting given girls in some cases go for men like their fathers. I think I decided to go in the opposite direction because well… to be terribly frank I believed my father to be the most boring man on the planet.” It was far from how I felt about him now as I knew very differently. He was good, loyal, loving, humble, honest, and so hard working. He never wanted to take something he didn’t fairly earn. It annoyed me as a child when we didn’t have the latest television set or vast amounts of presents didn’t surround the tree. 

She snorted and tried to cover it up, but it turned into full blown laughter. I threw a napkin at her.. “It’s not funny.”

“What attracted you to your ex?” That was sobering. 

“Aside from the fact he didn’t remind me of my father?” Her eyes sparkled with mirth and I glowered at her. “Well I guess he was attracted to me. He pursued me quite fiercely. I officially met him through my uncle a week or so after our initial meeting. They were colleagues, and my uncle talked about me quite a bit.” 

Sometimes I wondered if he’d have given me a second glance if not for my uncle’s intentional interference. He and I shared very different opinions on how dependable men looked and behaved. 

“He made you feel special,” she surmised. I thought about it, and it was fairly accurate. “I’ve seen it happen with a lot of my female students and even a few male. People like to feel special as if they’re the only ones who matter to a person. I bet he never looked at another woman when you were together.”

“You assume correctly.” I sighed, thinking further about how textbook it seemed. “I think in his own way he cared for me.” I wasn’t sure about the love part. I knew where I stood on the matter, but it was hard to trust anything he had told me.

“Alright let’s move onto a lighter subject. Your piece of shit ex shouldn’t be a cloud over you. This is about having a life outside of him and whatever bullshit he put you through in the past.” 

I smiled in thanks. “How long have you lived in Boston?”

“I’ve never lived anywhere else. My parents were born and raised here too. Where are you from in England?”

“I spent some of my early years in London, but my parents moved to York when I was around eleven. They didn’t want me to be in the city, but I moved back when I was accepted into ballet school. I stayed in a dormitory and when I wasn’t dancing I had school.” 

It was easier to see with a bit more distance and clarity the very reasons why my parents wanted me out of London. The people with whom I associated weren’t the sort parents wanted their children around, nor were they the kind to elevate themselves in life. I knew most of them still worked dead end jobs in London and lived in tiny flats. They hadn’t changed much. 

“Do you miss England? I’ve always wanted to travel.” 

“I miss my parents more than anything. I find I don’t miss London as much as I once thought I would. I do miss my family home in York.” I sighed. My parents were good at pretending, but I saw the heartbreak in their eyes behind their false smiles when I left for the academy. 

It gutted me to know I was the one who broke their hearts. “Why do I sense some guilt? It’s natural to leave home.”

“Yeah,” I said a bit wistfully. “Except I found ways to stay away even though I was my parents only child. I broke their hearts even now.”

Her hand covered mine with a gentle squeeze. “All children do that.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, not entirely sure I believed her. “So do you live nearby? I noticed it was mainly people who lived in the area who hung around the beach.”

It wasn’t unnoticed by my new friend my poor attempt at changing the conversation, however she dealt with other people enough to know when a topic was closed to her. I silently thanked her and liked her all the more for not pushing too much. Some people were far too nosy and some didn’t really care at all. It was difficult to know one from the other when first meeting someone. 

“A couple of blocks from the beach, most people don’t really know it exists. It’s why you don’t see too many people. I’ve always loved the water.”

“The beaches at least where I’ve been in England aren’t like the ones here. It’s much warmer which I do enjoy, although I can’t seem to really catch a tan.” She giggled and nodded her head in agreement. “The sun practically reflects off of me.”

It was no secret I was fair. I got freckles faster than my skin changed colors. We spent another hour in the coffee shop talking about our childhoods and families. “Are you excited to get married?”

She was still engaged and had been for nearly two years. “Oh yes,” she gushed, her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of pink. “We’ve been together since college, but I wanted to finish my masters and get settled first. Then he got transferred somewhere else for a year, so the timing was never just right.”

“You were with kids at the beach?” I did remember that. There wasn’t much I recalled from those endless summer days, but there were occasional flashes. Most of that time was spent in a haze. I was going through the motions, more a shell than an actual human.

A chuckle escaped her as she shook her head. “My nieces and nephews love to visit. I take them to the beach a lot as it tires them. They live about an hour and a half outside of Boston, so it excites them when they get to come into the city.”

“Ohhh…” I felt as my cheeks warmed, and she was polite enough not to make fun of me.

She waved off my embarrassment. “People assume they’re mine whenever we go out, but they just look more like me than they do my brother. We have a good laugh about it too.”

“They’re cute,” I offered. Children were a tetchy subject for me.

Becca shrugged a bit. “They’re also tiny devils. They love their pranks and running off when we go places. It’s a bit tiresome,” she sighed wearily as if thinking about it was exhausting. “God bless my brother and sister-in-law because I seriously don’t know how they do it.” 

“It must nice,” I said a bit too wistfully for my liking. 

Her brows furrowed and I think she read more into my tone than most would have in the same circumstance. It was perhaps the guidance counselor in her that made her more intuitive than most. I noticed how her eyes would hone in on my body movements as if registering my body language. I wondered if it helped with her students, or made them more irritated with her. 

Her face softened as if something clicked for her. “Claire, I don’t know exactly the words to say to make it seem better, but I do think it’s a blessing in disguise that you didn’t have kids with him.” I bristled as heat angrily rushed to my face. Interpreting my mood correctly, she held up her hands. “I mean no offense, but think of it in this way. You and he had problems. Whatever they were that’s between the two of you, but if you had children it would’ve made the situation all the more difficult between the two of you as you would be connected to him. You would have to see him and talk to him if only to take care of your children. That’s a forever sort of relationship that you wouldn’t be able to escape.”

It was as if I was doused by a bucket of ice cold water. The ice in my veins cooled the tempestuous fire as I found my shoulders slumping and my body sinking into the chair. She made several excellent points to validate my not having kids with my ex-husband. The worst part was how I still wanted to defend our relationship. It was a first reaction. I was disappointed in myself. 

“Yeah… you’re right,” I told her sullenly. 

My near explosion soured the mood, but surprisingly she wasn’t pissed off about it. “Eh Claire in my line of work you learn how to let things go and let it roll off your back. You didn’t ruin anything and I hope we can meet up again.”

My lips tipped up into a smile of their own accord, and it felt good. Everything seemed lighter. I had a friend. “I would like that. I’ll try not to be so gloomy next time.”

“I like listening. Therapy is nice and all, but your therapist is also paid to listen to you. They do care, but there is a monetary involvement. I however do not profit in any way. Venting is healthy.”

She was right. Talking about it even just a little helped ease some of it off my chest. There was certainly still a lot I wasn’t prepared to disclose as of yet, but even saying something gave me the feeling that I could get past this. There was something ahead of me even if I couldn’t always see it when the darkness surrounded me. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is something on your bucket list?   
> I want to travel all over. It's cliche, but I really want to experience different cultures and see the natural wonders of the world. It's been my favorite part about visiting outside of the continental U.S. aside from the history anyways.


	5. More Than This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank yous to my pre-readers Anne and Cristina.

One of the issues with not having an active occupation was the endless hours of the day. Therapy was only three days a week, and then I had to attend a support group once a week. 

There were only so many errands a single woman such as myself could run, and I wasn’t ready as of yet to return to the studio to at the very least get my body into peak performance shape. I was on leave from my role as a principal dancer as the company felt it would be in all of our best interests if I took some time to gather myself. Once I had done that we could discuss my return. 

It was difficult enough when my marital issues were splashed across the society pages. People were attending the performances, but part of it was the intrigue of the scorned woman. 

The hours where my brain was engaged with learning routines, classes, rehearsals, and shows were now hours where I had too much time to actually think about my situation. I was still not much closer to determining the moment my life went into a free fall, but my thoughts still lingered on my unresolved feelings for my ex-husband. It would be easier if I was indifferent to him and everything, however the truth was I dwelled on it more than I preferred. 

The problem with having spent almost all of my life dancing was that I tended to think of my life in the format of a ballet. There was always an Act I and an Act II. It was easy to determine when one ended and the other began as there were unique tones to each act. The first one introduced the conflict and ended in somewhat of a cliffhanger where the audience wondered exactly what would happen to give the characters a happy ending. 

One of the main issues was that not every ballet with a story format ended happily. Giselle was perhaps my favorite ballet. There was something mesmerizing about it when I first saw it at the age of ten. I hadn’t understood all the complexities and underlying emotions then as ten year olds don’t understand betrayal or the loss of innocent trust. 

All I understood was that Giselle was a beautiful girl who was betrayed by the man she loved because he couldn’t reveal who he actually was, and then two men fought over her. Now here was where the difficulty came in as there are two endings, there’s the original and the modified version. In the original, Giselle stabs herself to death with her beloved’s sword, and in the alternate version, she dances erratically as her grief overtakes her and dies as her heart gives out. Each is poetic in their own way, but in many ways I preferred the original version. 

Betrayal by a lover cuts into the soul of a person and something inside breaks. It’s irreparable. Nothing in the world could fix something that can’t be touched. 

At least in Giselle’s case, her love returned the feelings. It was his lying that became the pressing issue and she felt betrayed by his actions. While a person said and felt one thing, it was ultimately their actions which essentially revealed who they were in the end. 

Throughout the first few months, everything was still so raw. It was as if every nerve had been exposed to the elements and I was feeling everything. The pain was present with each breath, movement, and thought. 

_ My heart pounded erratically in my chest as I stared out into the dark waters of the East River. Tears poured out of my eyes, falling down my burning cheeks, as I struggled to breathe, to think, to do anything.  _

_ It happened all so fast and then suddenly I was here.  _

_ So many times I considered it. I stopped myself each and every time, but now I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to stop the impulse. Everything hurt. I bled. I cried.  _

_ I looked up into the darkened sky and wished I could see the stars. The city lights prevented any such view. I wanted to see them one last time.  _

_ My grandmother told me once that when we all die, we become starlight. It was why there were so many stars. When she died, I stared up at the sky and thought I found her there, blinking back at me. It was a nice thought anyway.  _

_ With a gasping sob, I took off my coat, slid out of my shoes, and set my purse down. I wouldn’t need any of those things.  _

“Why do you think you went there that night?”

I blinked myself back into the present, away from the shining lights of the city that never sleeps, away from the rushing wind in my ears, and the pounding of my heart. I wet my bottom lip as I considered the question. It was hard to determine exactly what led me there. My eyes unfocused as my mouth opened to reply. “While I do consider him to be a huge trigger, I think I was aware of my own unhappiness.”

She hummed and scribbled something into her notebook. I stopped worrying a long time ago about what she wrote about me. Dr. Clarkson had shown her support for me and never judged me even when I revealed some of the darkest thoughts to run through my brain. 

I listened as the pen scratched the paper. “Was it just your marriage or was there more?”

Since being diagnosed with clinical depression, I had a sudden awareness that part of the reason I was never happy was the chemistry of my brain.  I didn’t have much of a chance. “It was the dissatisfaction I had in general.” I admitted with a tiny bit of resentment. I still wasn’t a fan of the spilling my guts bit, and it was akin to pulling out teeth when getting me to talk about something I really didn’t want to. “I thought by this point I would be somewhere different.”

“Where?”

“I can’t really say.”

“Well you must’ve had some sort of idea, otherwise you would’ve never said that.” 

She made a fair point again. 

“I’m a nearly twenty-seven year old divorcee with no future prospects, a career that is on hold and doesn’t have a long lifespan in the first place. In my mind, I thought while I would still be dancing, I could perhaps be a mother. That didn’t work out according to plan.” 

She set aside her notebook and I knew this was going to be one of the times where she gave it to me straight. Dr. Clarkson didn’t believe in coddling, only the truth. To move on, you had to accept that which can’t be changed and also admit it. The admitting was the worst part as you felt bare for the world to see. 

“The thing about plans, Claire, is that they never work out the way we intended them to. We can plan and plan every detail of our lives, but reality is often very different than what happens in your brain or on paper. I like to think things happen the way they are meant to, which means you and he were just resting not stopping points in one another’s life.”

I swallowed a lump. She wasn’t the first to say as much to me. “I… I uh,” I sucked in a breath and licked my lips as I tried to compose myself. The unexpected burning of tears surprised me, and I blinked them back as best I could. “Why wasn’t I enough?” I hated how my voice quivered and how hung up I was on him. 

“Claire, I can’t answer that. The problem with break-ups is that when they aren’t mutual where both partners agree something isn’t working, the one who has the ending sprung on them is the one with the most hang ups. There is something unresolved about the situation and now you require answers for which there are none. Does it make a difference in the scheme of your life? While it sounds nice in theory to know every motivation, we can only control our responses and rationale for our actions. His actions and feelings should have no bearing on how you proceed with your life going forward.”

“It’s difficult to put nearly a decade of history to rest like that.” 

“No one says you have to right now. It takes time to sort through it all and organize in a way your mind can let it just rest. However, there is something you can do. Stop dwelling on that which you have no control over. Your life is your own. Own it. Go out and enjoy yourself, buy a new dress, go dance, do something just for you without thinking about what it’ll mean for someone else. It’s okay to be selfish.”

While they made sense, somehow the words sounded wrong to my ears at the same time. It could be all those years of attending mass and hearing about what happened to those who were selfish, but the idea that being selfish was a positive seemed revolutionary in a way. 

“I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“That’s the great part. Figure out what makes you happy and do it. It’s time to live your life for yourself instead of for others.”

I scoffed. I didn’t know the last time I did something solely for my own pleasure and not someone else. I found as an adult I constantly caved to the wishes of others, and had lost the assertiveness my parents praised and despised. The skin I wore itched, in part due to the fact that I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I played a role not meant for me and the end result only further proved to me how wrong it was all along. 

“It’s okay Claire,” Dr. Clarkson said, interpreting my scoff correctly. “We all have moments in our lives where we cater to others wishes and demands, which tends to put us in a position of being unsure of ourselves. Pleasing others isn’t necessarily a negative, but it does put a person in a tough spot when they finally realize what they’ve been doing. Everything is a process. You’re in a process now.”

I knew she was right. Therapy was one giant process, for which I had nothing previous to compare it to. I was constantly learning new things about myself, and it bothered me I had never taken the time to explore them deeper. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll see you next week.” I smiled weakly as I got up. Therapy still wasn’t the most comfortable place, but it was getting better. I wouldn’t say easier as we were only beginning to touch on the painful parts. 

She wanted to say more, but I think she figured her chances were better to bring it up at our next session rather than tack it on at the end of this one. I saw her quickly scribble something down on her notepad. “Think about what I said Claire.” I nodded and left without saying another word. 

As I exited her office, I considered what she asked of me. I honestly didn’t know what would make me happy as I spent a decade of my life pleasing someone else as I thought it would bring a sense of contentment to my life. I thought about what I had done to myself by erasing my own identity in favor of bringing joy to someone else. It sounded so silly in retrospect. While performing selfless acts for others could bring a smile to one’s face, it didn’t bring with it the all consuming happiness most people sought in life. A person needed more than that to feel fulfilled. 

Aside from dancing, I didn’t have anything of my own in our relationship. I scoffed as bitterness rose up inside me. Turns out I never had friends either at least not the loyal kind. I thought I had a home, but it was never really mine. It was his to take from the very beginning. While he added me to the deed and we shared half of everything, I didn’t want his house. I didn’t want those memories that were all tarnished by a single night. 

It was funny how an entire night could change the course of a person’s whole life. Until that moment, I truly believed I found my place and that I was at my final destination only to arrive at a different conclusion all these months later. 

One of the reasons I ultimately decided to leave the city were all the persistent memories flooding my brain. Everywhere I went, another memory popped into my head, bringing forth another wave of tears.

Boston was a big city with a lot to offer and new memories to make to help erase the old ones.

As for my homework, I remembered my parents sent me a late birthday present. One of the reasons I loved ballet as much as I did was the live music from the orchestra. Music set the mood and tone for a dance and enhanced the performance. 

My parents gifted me tickets to see the Boston Symphony. Growing up an only child furthered my independence and solitude, and in my free time if I wasn’t dancing, I was listening to classical music. My parents thought it awfully strange I wouldn’t listen to anything else even in the car. I plugged in my headphones to my CD player and ignored everything else except the music. I preferred the sounds of Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Rossini, and so many others. 

I did have a strong taste more for the ballet selections, but the other composers were nice when I wanted time to think, write, do homework, or sleep. Music helped me to focus on singular tasks. My ex wasn’t into classical selections and had more modern preferences. He would rather attend a rock concert over an opera any day of the week. On occasion if it was for a charity event, he could be talked into attending the symphony or an opera, but it happened so rarely in our marriage, it might as well have never happened. 

When my parents emailed me the tickets, I was absolutely chuffed as it had been such a long time. Looking at the two tickets made me realize my own loneliness. I know they didn’t mean anything by it, and perhaps assumed I would invite my new friend. I winced at their concealed excitement over me leaving my flat to spend some time with someone who wasn’t paid to talk to me. I knew they were worried about me being alone in an unfamiliar city an ocean away from them. 

They and my therapist were pleased by my decision to start taking my anti-depressants. I couldn’t say if I noticed an overall difference in my thoughts, some days I was positive I felt differently. It didn’t seem as if everything was as heavy as the day before, but we were adjusting the meds as we went along. My head did seem clearer in most aspects, but I couldn’t be sure if it was the therapy or the meds, maybe a combination of both that caused that.  

As I sat in my car, staring at my phone, I contemplated whether or not I was prepared to invite someone out with me for an evening. There wouldn’t be an easy escape for the situation either as I was the inviter in this particular case. 

Dr. Clarkson’s advice was to figure out what I liked, and I did like spending time with Rebecca. I had even invited her over for a cuppa one afternoon. Her reaction was a bit on the comical side as it was British slang, and I often forgot Americans weren’t into drinking tea as much as us. She sent back a text to clarify I meant tea and not something else. I told her I wouldn’t get her trollied, which required me to explain some British colloquialisms. 

We’ve been shopping and even visited a few cafes. The last few weeks have been nice. I forgot what it was like to have an actual friend who cared about you. 

I had even met her fiancé. He was a nice fellow and seriously good looking. He and Bec made a good match as they complimented one another nicely. His name was Logan, and he was quite tall with reddish blonde hair and midnight blue eyes. Sometimes I swore I could see stars shining back at me. He co-owned a sports pub with his best friend. I laughed remembering how we argued about football versus American football, and which one was ultimately superior. He was put out when I told him my football was the more universal and most watched sport, and the name made far more sense. 

_ “Have you even watched American football? You sound biased.” His teasing smile revealed glistening teeth.  _

_ I shook my head at him. “Yes, I’ve been to several Giants games. I’ve also attended a Super Bowl and have been to several watch events. I’ve never understood all the hype surrounding the sport.” _

_ He mocked groaned and banged his head into the table. Bec laughed and patted his head. “Honey, it’ll be alright.” She grinned at me with a wink thrown in. “All the regulars at your bar love football.”  _

_ “The two of you are charming.” It was refreshing to see two individuals so in love. My faith wasn’t entirely renewed in the concept, but I wasn’t in the throes of jealousy either which was promising. “It’s alright that your sport isn’t nearly as entertaining as mine.” _

Surprisingly, he was easy to talk to. I had even visited his pub a few times in the weeks after our meeting. He always gave me a drink on the house causing me to roll my eyes at him.  _ “You know I’ve got a friend that I think you’d like,” he informed on one of these occasions.  _

_ My eyes darted away unsure about this line of conversation. It wasn’t that I couldn’t entertain the idea, the months of loneliness had definitely left me craving the intimacy of relationship. Ultimately I wasn’t prepared for the prospect of a relationship. Dr. Clarkson said that was fairly normal and responsible as I could end up potentially hurting another person in my current mental state.  _

_ “I don’t know,” I hemmed.  _

_ He sensed my hesitation and let the subject drop. “It’s okay. I probably overstepped my boundaries anyways.” _

_ My hand shot out and grabbed ahold of his arm before he turned. “Thank you for thinking about me. I just don’t think I’m ready as of yet. Maybe in the future.” He nodded, his eyes were sympathetic.  _

_ “Let me go check on my kitchen staff, and then I can sit with you for a bit. Becs should be here soon.” _

I decided I would invite Becca. I didn’t fancy attending the symphony by myself. The thought made me feel pathetic, and if there was something I never wanted to feel again it was that.

**Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to attend the symphony with me tomorrow?**

**_Sure J_ **

**I’ll pick you up around five and we can grab some dinner before.**

**Alright, sounds good. Gotta go, new student.**

I exhaled as I realized that wasn’t bad. It was somewhat easy. I noticed that as I interacted with people a regular basis, my anxiety wasn’t nearly as crippling. I still found myself having to count and do my breathing exercises on occasion, but there were times where I completely forgot to be anxious. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we will finally meet Jamie. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you have a phone, what kind do you have? I have an iPhone and have for the last 7 years. Although, my statistic on phones is really terrible. I just got a new one last week. This is my 11th phone in not quite 10 years. In my defense, some of those I had for more than a year.


	6. Maybe Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really do like this posting schedule. I might take a week off here and there as it's summer. I will definitely let you know when I plan to do that.  
> Thanks so much to my prereaders Anne and Cristina. Honestly without them, I would have so many grammatical and spelling errors. If there are any mistakes, it's totally my fault as I go back and add stuff.

“I’ve never gone to a symphony.” Becca told me as we finished our dinner. We went to an Italian place to keep it simple. “My parents weren’t into that sort of thing, and I didn’t know much about music beyond what was popular on the radio or MTV.”

It didn’t surprise me to be frank. Most people didn’t know much about music beyond what was currently in the top ten. “That’s alright. You don’t need more than your ears to enjoy the music. It is different than a pop or rock concert. The compositions are the star, not the individual musicians. The music can also be interpreted differently compared to songs with lyrics. It makes each person feel something different.”

“How did you get into classical music if you don’t mind my asking?” It was one of the things I truly adored about Becca. She never pried as she respected the privacy of others. She gave me an opening, but never asked for more than I was willing to share, which made it much likelier I would share information with her. She had an inviting demeanor, and I’m sure it helped with her students.

I twisted my fork in my pasta. “I’m a ballet dancer as you know.” She nodded. It was around our third or fourth friend outing I finally revealed to her what it was I did for a profession. She had been curious, but chose not to ask since I hadn’t said anything about it.

 _“I thought you had a killer body and now I see why.”_ I laughed at that because I was out of shape by ballet standards. She didn’t agree and told me I looked amazing, and to shut up about it.

“When I was a kid, I loved attending the ballet. I especially loved the music. A ballet is nothing without music to accompany it. It gives it life and allows the audience to figure out the mood, particularly for the members of the audience who are seated farther back. I checked out books from the library on composers when I was eight, and begged my parents for CDs of these classical composers. I spent hours in my room listening to the instruments and trying to figure out what was happening in a song. ”

“Music can be an outlet for a lot of people, especially children. If you aren’t sure what it is you’re feeling, the music you listen to can be an indicator of your mood and your feelings.”

I rolled my eyes fondly at her. “Okay Dr. Becca,” I grinned at her as she playfully kicked me under the table. “In all seriousness, I did prefer the ballet classics over anything else. I choreographed a lot of my own ballets and performed them for anyone and everyone who would watch.” Heat crept into my cheeks as the memories of me in little pink tutus and ballet slippers twirling across my living room flowed through my mind. It was how I determined I wanted to be a professional ballerina one day. “My parents recorded all of them. They thought it was so cute. They digitalized all of them,” I informed her, my face flushed pink. “It was in case I had any ideas about burning them.” She snickered.

“I could see you doing that.” I poked my tongue out at her. “You’ve got that sort of mischievousness about you.”

I made a face at her. “Anyway, the music became such a huge aspect of my life. It was always there for me.”

“Yeah, I listened to pop hits like Britney Spears, The Spice Girls, New Ki-“

I cackled loudly causing several people to throw nasty glares in my direction. “You listened to New Kids on the Block? That’s hilarious, and I would’ve never imagined you into that sort of music.”

She groaned and covered her face. “I was a little kid. I thought it was good music at the time.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. “Sure if that’s the excuse you’re going with.”

“Oh shut up Claire, I didn’t say I still listened to them. I like to think my tastes are more refined.” She wore such a petulant expression, I couldn’t help but giggle. My giggles set her own giggles off, and I imagined we looked like two silly teenage girls. “It’s not as if I’ve attended any of their reunion tours.”

“Okay,” I said panting. “I’ll forgive you this one sin.”

“How kind of you.”

“I am very nice I’ll have you know, and with a superior taste in music.” I smirked at her shocked face.

It was nice to have a friend who understood my sense of humor and my sarcasm. We joked around and never took ourselves too seriously in moments like this one. It was refreshing in my experience with having friends. My past friends never seemed to understand me.

“If you say so, but my five year old self doesn’t agree. She went to their Face the Music tour and thought it was awesome.”

“That’s more embarrassing than you being a fan in the first place. Did you buy merchandise? Oh, are there pictures of you wearing a t-shirt or something? I’ll have to ask John and Lydia.”

She glared at me and crossed her arms. “You’re mean. Don’t you dare ask my parents.”

“Fine,” I raised my hands in surrender. “I leave you alone about your poor taste in music.”

“Claaiiiirreee.”

“I was only having a bit of fun.”

She glowered. “I could make jokes about you.”

“Yes, but you’d go after English stereotypes about us being stiff and boring.”

I only knew this as she had already done it. We made fun of each other regularly. “Well the only fun English movie I’ve seen is Bridget Jones. Most movies about English people are historical or Shakespearean or any other English author’s work.”

She made a valid point. “I’ll concede on that. I should tell you that I do love a good rom-com as surprising as that may be.”

“I knew it!” She did a little jig. “I knew somewhere inside of you there was a sappy girl who loves a good happy ending.”

“I figure there are so few happy endings in life that I don’t want to go the cinema and be depressed.”

“Valid point. I like musicals, especially the romantic ones. My favorite is _Moulin Rouge_.”

“That has a tragic ending.”

“It still has a beautiful love story, and who doesn’t love Ewan McGregor?” We giggled, and I was sure some of the other patrons sent us annoyed glances. We didn’t care and ignored them. We were having a wonderful time.

We finished up our meal and Becca paid for dinner. “It’s the least I can do. You didn’t even tell me that your birthday was a week ago.”

I smiled sheepishly. “I don’t like to make a fuss.”

She wagged her finger at me. “Well don’t worry as next year we will be doing something.” She must’ve seen the look of horror that flashed across my face. “It won’t be a party. I figure we’ll go out for some pints,” she winked at me, making fun of me. “Get a bit knockered and-“

“Alright now you’re just being a smartarse.” She signed the sales receipt and left a generous tip. “Ready to go?”

She emptied the remaining contents of her glass with a smirk.

We were helped to our seats by an usher. “Thank you.” There was some small talk before the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play.

The wonder on her face as they went through their repertoire made the entire night worth it for me. I had never been able to share my love of the classics with anyone. It was something I learned how to accept over the years.

My husband made it obvious his general disdain for the arts. On nights I had free or between seasons, I attended the symphony alone. I couldn’t force him to do it, and he was unwilling as it was. My mother said not every couple enjoyed the same activities; my issue was he never tried. I tried to do things he liked, which resulted in me attending fancy galas where I was constantly judged by his friends. They regularly talked down to me as if I were lesser than them since I came from a working class family as opposed to being born with a silver spoon in my mouth.

My eyes drifted shut as the music flowed through me filling me with so many different emotions. Peace wrapped around my heart the way it always did at the sounds of strings, woodwinds, the brass, and the percussions blending together to create beautiful melodies and harmonies. I always loved the sound of the violin as it was truly the heart of the string section much like the flute was in the woodwinds. I loved all of the arrangements the orchestra played and enthusiastically applauded at the end.

It was a magnificent performance, and the orchestra was extremely talented. It was one of the best symphonic concerts I had attended in my life. I was wrapped up in the music that time passed me by and we were on the last composition of the night. My applause came belatedly as I was awestruck and still reeling from the last note hanging in the air.

I brushed away a few tears as I gathered my belongings. Music tended to make me heavily emotional as it touched places inside of me that weren’t easily reached.  

“Wait,” Becca tugged on my arm as I went to stand and leave. I stared at her blankly, wondering why she was stopping me. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

My brows furrowed at this unexpected turn. Clearly, Becca was quick on her feet when planning surprises as this was all very much last minute as I had waited to invite her. Then it hit me. “Did Julia call you?”

My mum and Becca had talked over the phone and eventually exchanged numbers. Becca told me she liked my mother and thought she was a ‘cool’ lady. “Wh-what? No- of course not.”

“Oh my god she did! What did you do?” I planted my hands firmly on my hips as I stared down at her.

Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Claire, come on it’s a surprise.” I refused to budge. She sighed. “This is all my idea, but I did know you had the tickets after talking with your mom. I figured you must like the symphony, and so I arranged for you to meet them and the conductor tonight.”

My mouth fell open in shock. “Wh-what? H-h-how?” It was something that literally rarely ever happened. Musicians were keen to leave at the end of the night as it meant their work day was finally over. It was at private events where people were presented with the opportunity to meet members of the orchestra unless a person was high profile enough to be extended an invitation.

“Let’s just say I have connections.” She zipped up her lips and refused to divulge any more information about her little surprise.

I was somewhat put out and wasn’t above pouting about it. She chuckled, but continued to ignore me.

When the hall was finally cleared out, she led me forward towards the stage where the orchestra was still gathered. Many of them were arranging their music or taking care of their instruments.

My anxiety spiked at the sight of them. I redirected my thoughts and focused on calming my breaths as I tried not to panic. It was nerve wracking for me as I had just been silenced by their amazing performance tonight, and here I was getting the chance to meet the people who affected me with their playing.

The other cause of my anxiety was my general dislike of surprises. There was always the potential for something to go wrong with a surprise, and I had a few backfire on me.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Becca halted and turned towards me. “Are you alright? If you aren’t up to this, they’ll understand. I just thought it would be something you like, a belated birthday gift.”

“You paid for dinner.”

“Eh, you’ve paid for our drinks in the past. I thought this was something I could do for you to make you happy since you’ve had a crappy year.”

I threw my arms around her. “Thanks,” I pulled back with a mortifying grin.

“Now come on.”

I followed her up to the stage and we made our way up. A bunch of them wished me a happy birthday as we made our way through. I was stopped by a violinist who I remembered sat in the first chair. “Are you Claire Perkins?” Her eyes were full of stars.

I reared back in shock and she immediately started apologizing, interpreting my expression incorrectly. “Oh no! I must’ve mixed you u-“

“No, uh I just go by Claire Beauchamp these days. Perkins was my married name.” Her cheeks were red. She was likely around my age with black curly hair and grey eyes. “How do you know me?” I prayed that she hadn’t seen any of the stuff about my divorce in the papers. Did that make it all the way to Boston?

“I saw you perform a few times. I love ballet, and your performance as Gisele has to be one of my favorites. I was going to go a few weeks ago when I saw that you weren’t on their cast list.”

“I’m sort of on sabbatical at the moment.” I didn’t want to get into any specifics regarding my absence.

She nodded. “I figured as you were still listed on their website as part of the company. What are you doing in Boston?”

“I live here. I haven’t decided if I want to go back to New York or not.”

Her mouth fell open. “Wait… are you serious? What will you do? Does that mean you won’t dance anymore?”

I discovered I had an actual supporter in this girl. It was one thing to be recognized in New York. “I honestly haven’t gotten that far. There are some companies here, so we’ll see.”

“Oh goodness,” she exclaimed. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Maggie Thompson.”

“Nice to meet you,” I shook her offered hand. “You played wonderfully. I loved your featured part.”

She beamed, pleased by my praise. “Thank you, that means a lot. I know you’ve heard a lot of violinists. It was super nice meeting you Claire.”

“You too Maggie.”

Becca was conversing with the conductor at the front of the stage. I hadn’t noticed him much during the performance, but I had a good look of him now. His hair was ginger with a natural curl that I saw was slicked back by something. He was tall, broad shouldered, and not what I would expect as a conductor. He was young too and extremely good looking.

I couldn’t make out his eye color from a distance, but as I approached them, I noticed they were a dark blue color. He had a cat like focus on me as I got closer. They broke off from their conversation as I joined Becca’s side. “Oh there you are Claire, Claire this is James Fraser. He was the conductor. He’s also a friend of Logan. They co-own the pub together.”

Oh this was the mysterious co-owner. I had never seen him around in my visits, and honestly thought of him as some sort of mythical being. He was like Scully’s other brother on _The X-Files._ He was talked about, but he wasn’t ever seen. I was beginning to think the elusive partner didn’t exist and was a figment of Logan’s imagination. “Nice to meet you, I’m Claire.”

He stared at me for a moment as if trying to fit me into some incomplete puzzle. There was a familiarity there that quickly died out. He took my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Logan and this one,” he tilted his head at Becca. “Have told me all about you. I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to meet you until now. I just recently returned.”

“He’s being modest. He was a guest conductor for the New York Symphony. He was only able to come up once during the summer and that was for his sister’s wedding.” She explained.

It made sense why I hadn’t seen him. I wondered if this was the friend Logan wanted to set me up with. While I felt a mild attraction to him, I had no room for a relationship in my life.

“Claire used to live New York. She moved here at the beginning of summer.”

He nodded. His penetrating gaze never left me, and made me feel more than a bit uncomfortable. “Have we met?” He seemed somewhat familiar to me.

There was something in his eyes, despite him shaking his head. “No, I don’t think we have.”

“So have you always wanted to be a conductor?” I knew many conductors played an instrument or two themselves, but found a great passion in guiding musicians. It wasn’t easy even though they made it appear effortless.

His eyes were unfocused as if he weren’t really here. “Sorry, what did you say?” I belatedly realized he was Scottish.

“You’re Scottish,” I blurted and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, that was so rude. I am sorry.”

He chuckled and waved off my apologies. “’Tis fine, ye meant no harm.” His accent was a bit stronger after I mentioned his nationality. I wondered if he dulled it so people would understand him better. “Ye’re English. I dinna think they mentioned that.” He fixed Becca with a pointed glare.

She held up her hands with innocence written all over her face. “I forgot. She’s just Claire, and it didn’t seem like such an important detail.”

He didn’t appear to believe her, but dropped the issue. “Where are ye from in England?”

“London, then York, then back to London, but I’ve lived stateside for a long time. I’m assuming you have as well.” If his accent was anything to by, he had been here a while.

“Aye, I came here for college. I studied music at Boston University, and stayed after graduation when I received an offer to play for the symphony.”

“What do you play?”

“I think the better question is what doesn’t he play.” Jamie flushed, his cheeks nearly as bright as his hair. “He’s amazing, although he doesn’t really play anything anymore. He was known for his skills on the violin and cello.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and covered her mouth. “I dinna need ye to talk me up. Ye’re embarrassing me.”

I chuckled at the two of them bickering like siblings. They continued their mini squabble as most of the orchestra members cleared out. “The two of you act like a brother and sister pair.”

They turned and stared at me as if forgetting I was there all this time. “Well sure Claire, I’ve known this idiot, oh wait sorry eejit, since we were sophomores in college.”

I wasn’t sure for whose amusement she modified her use of the word idiot. By the look he gave her, it was for him and it was a regular occurrence. “Ach, ignore her, she doesna ken what she’s talking about. She’s only upset I wasna available to her.”

Her face darkened and she punched his shoulder. “You think so highly of yourself James Fraser, but you aren’t that special. Logan is the only man I need and have wanted. You’re upset that I rejected you for him. So there,” she lifted her chin proudly, crossing her arms over her chest, reminding me distinctly of a peacock for some odd reason.

Jamie made some sound in the back of his throat as he tossed a glare at her before returning his attention to me. “I hope ye enjoyed tonight’s performance, and return again in the future. Our holiday concerts will be starting after thanksgiving.” He gave me a hopeful grin, and my breath caught in my throat at his gorgeous face.

He was a very handsome man with beautiful chiseled features. I had a hard time believing he wasn’t carved out of stone. “I’ll have to check with my parents about our holiday plans. It was very nice to meet you Jamie,” my hand slipped into his much larger one.

I pulled back in shock. My hand burned at his touch, and from the look of his face something similar happened to him. “Yes you too Claire. Good night to both of ye.”

No one’s touch had ever affected me in such a way. His hand in mine made my skin tingle. It was weird. I pushed it away for another day. I doubted I would see Jamie for a while, at least not until Becca’s wedding. He was far too busy, and I had my own life to be getting on with instead of worrying about some unavailable guy. Besides, Becca never said he was single.

“So what did you think of him?”

I shrugged noncommittally.

“He’ll be the best man at the wedding. I figured at least you’d know someone else.”

“He’s interesting. He wasn’t what I was expecting when Logan talked about his business partner.”

“Yeah, most people think he’s so serious and doesn’t know how to have a good time. He was the one who helped Logan realize he wanted to own his own pub. They’re planning to open another one in a year or so. They’ve been scouting locations whenever either of them is free.”

I was impressed. “He’s nice enough. I’m just not looking to date.”

“God Claire, I wasn’t intending for that to happen. I wanted to help you meet people so you won’t feel so alone. I think you need a lot more time before you’re ready to date, and since I haven’t heard you talk about the opposite sex I figured you weren’t there yet.”

I exhaled in relief. “Oh well now I feel foolish.”

“I get it. Now Logan he probably did want to set you guys up, but I told him not to push. Jamie can find a girl all on his own.”

“If I ever do feel ready, I’ll tell you. I think for now it’s best I stick to myself and making friends. I’ve never had much time for it in the past.”

“Then that’s what we will do. Now come on, I need some caffeine.”

“Anyone ever told you, you’ve got an addiction?”

“All the time,” she replied as she dragged me to the parking garage.

* * *

 

“It was different.”

“In what way?”

“I’ve never been keenly aware of someone else’s presence, nor has their touch felt like electricity.”

“Were you attracted to him?”

I scrunched my face, shrugged my shoulders, and then shook my head. “I don’t think so. Well… uh… I… um… oh I don’t bloody know.” I barely knew the man. For me in the past, initial attractions faded, and it took quite a bit to keep my interest. The stir I felt in my stomach solidified in my mind that he certainly made an impression on me, but it still wasn’t enough for me to want to be anything more than friendly with him. “Possibly.” The sting of betrayal from someone I loved was still fresh in mind and hindered my open mindedness in regards to relationships. I was self-aware enough to know this.

“Possibly is a far cry from no. Do you want there to be more?”

I huffed and threw myself back onto the sofa. It was becoming a habit whenever I became frustrated with the direction of our sessions. My ballet teachers would’ve had quite the lecture about my posture if they could see me now. Slouching was practically a crime and I remembered not so fondly spending a few extra hours at the bar to correct mine.

“I can’t say. He’s attractive like really bloody attractive, but I don’t know much else about him aside from his profession and where he went to university. Well he’s also a Scot so he does come from my side of the world.”

“That’s what dating is for Claire.” She used that patient tone of hers. It was the one where she was attempting to get me to budge on an issue or at the very least see a different point of view. “We date people so we can get to know them. I think in your case, you feel that dating didn’t help. You thought you knew your husband and then discovered that he was a lying scoundrel.”

I hid my smile. Dr. Clarkson did her best to remain impartial, but she told me herself she developed a fondness for me. I had a feeling if my piece of shit ex ever had the idea of contacting or visiting me, he wouldn’t get within a foot of me before the people in my life decided to interfere on my behalf to put him in his place. “I guess I don’t think I can rely on my instincts to help me know if someone is lying to me. There were multiple times in my marriage where my brain screamed at me there was something wrong, instead of listening to my brain, I trusted my heart to guide me.”

“Then I would say you aren’t ready. Don’t rush into a relationship for the sake of not being alone. It won’t do you any good, and could potentially set you back farther. At this point, it couldn’t hurt to have friends. If it feels natural to become something more than that, then try it out. Forcing a relationship will only create problems in the long run, but there’s no such thing as too many friends. It’s your life Claire. You’re the one in control. You may have been burned in the past, but the future is all up to you. He doesn’t get to ruin everything for you.” Her eyes were fierce, and I knew this wasn’t my therapist talking but the woman behind the doctor.

She told me after two months of sessions how much she despised lying bastards. If there was one thing she understood, it was the sting of betrayal from the people around you.  

I considered her words. It wouldn’t hurt to have coffee with him. He seemed nice enough. Becca was right in saying I hardly knew anyone in the city outside her and her fiancé. I would have to make clear my intentions to Jamie. I never wanted to fool someone the way I had been. I also couldn’t afford another relationship. The fear of failure was too much for me, and I didn’t know if I could trust someone not to hurt me.

“Thanks,” I finally said after taking a few moments to contemplate her advice. “I can’t let my past hold me back any longer, but I think I’ll stick to the friend route. I’m not ready for anything more than that in my life.”

“That’s okay Claire. You’ve got a lot of life ahead of you, and you don’t need to make any decisions yet.” We then talked about my meds and how I was feeling most days. “Good, this seems to be right the dosage. You can call any time if you have concerns. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QotD: What songs/artists have you been listening to lately?  
> I've been listening to a lot of Billie Eilish, some Stevie Nicks, and a bunch of random artists. I'm more of a song than artist person with very few exceptions. Someone to You by Banners and Fireworks by First Aid Kit are songs I've recently added to my library and enjoy a lot.


End file.
